Better
by Mika-chan
Summary: Takeru wakes to a darkened room, an empty bed, and a mild drumming in his head. The latter he hopes will go away as the day passes. It doesn't.


Takes place in the same universe as "Waver" although it's not entirely necessary that you read that.

* * *

Takeru wakes to a darkened room, an empty bed, and a mild drumming in his head.

He rubs his eyes and glances to the window to see that the curtains are drawn, but only to reveal an overcast sky. His mental calendar tells him it's Tuesday and that both Ken and Daisuke have early morning classes, which explains the absence of company. The headache he attributes to late night studying and the lack of caffeine. He can't reclaim the hours of sleep he's lost, but he can remedy the latter. With that thought in mind, Takeru crawls out of bed and proceeds to do just that.

Fully caffeinated, he attends his one class of the day, covers the last two hours of his coworker's shift at the library, and does some grocery shopping before heading home. All the while, the pressure behind his eyes steadily builds rather than disappear as he had hoped.

A few hours later, he's attempting to reread his creative writing essay with sheer force of will, but knows it's futile. The pain in his head is a steady thrum now. It isn't bad enough to cause any nausea, but is bothersome enough that he knows he can't focus on anything else today.

He reluctantly puts down his pen, frustration bubbling to the surface, but he forces it down, as it will only make him wearier. He gathers the papers spread across the kitchen table, stores them away in his messenger bag, and pushes his chair back to stand. Although daylight still filters into the room, experience dictates that the only way to rid him of this headache is to sleep. Consuming over-the-counter painkillers will do little to help, and he can barely afford this semester's tuition let alone pay for prescription medication. So, sleep it was.

Takeru trudges out of the kitchen and heads up to the second floor. Once in his bedroom, he shrugs out of his jeans and sweatshirt and pulls on a set of well-worn, green flannel pajamas. They're his go-to sleepwear whenever he feels lousy and no amount of mocking from Daisuke will ever change that.

He pulls the curtains closed as best as he can before climbing into bed. He then drags Ken's pillow to his chest and sighs into the cushion. The faint scent of lavender permeates from the fabric, a remnant of Ken's shampoo. The thought of his partner reminds him of the breathing exercises Ken insisted he learn once he and Daisuke discovered he was susceptible to the occasional migraine. Relaxing his body, Takeru inhales slowly and deeply like Ken instructed and tries to focus on how the air moves through his nose and then out. He continues in this fashion for a while, but his attention continues to wander to the pulsing behind his right eye, and he can't _not_ paying attention to it. Soon enough it's all he can think about and then the only sounds he can hear beyond the pounding in his head is his harsh and erratic breathing.

He isn't certain how long he lies there in misery unable to fall asleep, but knows by the sound of the front door unlocking that it is at least six o'clock and that it's Ken who's home because he promised the night before he'd help prepare dinner after his classes ended. Daisuke on the other hand would be back much later tonight due to a group project.

"I'm back." He hears Ken call out the customary greeting, and Takeru's entire body tenses. He wants to reply, but simultaneously does not want to because it'll be too loud, and he really, really just wants to sleep right now.

"Takeru?"

His ears track Ken's footfalls as he makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen. After several beats of silence in which Takeru imagines Ken stripping out of his coat and scarf, he hears the clink of a glass and a running faucet. He grimaces at the sounds, inhales another deep, but now shaky breath, and tries to will himself to sleep. He's failing miserably. His next breath hitches in his throat and soon after, he feels the burn of tears behind his eyelids.

He hates this. Hates feeling this way. He just wants some relief, but knows it's long in coming.

He presses his face deeper into damp fabric, almost to the point where he can hardly breathe anymore, and starts to tug on his hair—hoping he can focus on that pain rather than the jackhammer currently pounding into his brain.

When deft fingers gently pries his own from his hair, Takeru starts, eyes opening to see Ken kneeling on the bed beside him. The concern etched on the familiar face is Takeru's undoing, and his vision blurs rapidly with the onset of fresh tears.

When Takeru speaks his partner's name and nothing else, it comes out raspy and barely above a whisper, but Ken doesn't have to hear anything else. He swiftly and without too much jostling gathers Takeru in his arms and maneuvers them until Ken is leaning with his back against the headboard and Takeru is lying down with his head resting on Ken's lap. Ken begins to card his fingers through his hair, his fingertips scraping lightly across his scalp. Takeru focuses on the soothing sensation and when he not only feels, but hears Ken taking exaggerated and measured breaths, he takes the hint and tries the breathing techniques again.

He scowls shortly after, shaking his head in frustration because it isn't helping. He'd know; he did try it for hours earlier today. Ken doesn't seem deterred, however, continuing to take even breaths, but also uses his free hand to loosen the grip Takeru has on his slacks.

"I'm going to try something," Ken murmurs, and Takeru huffs his assent—willing to agree to a blow to the head at this point if it means he can at least sleep off the hurt.

He feels Ken untangle his fingers from his hair, then watches as his partner takes hold of his left hand and presses his thumb firmly into the meaty space between his thumb and index finger. It doesn't hurt, but it is definitely an odd thing for Ken to do.

"Do you feel anything?" Ken asks after a while.

Takeru stares at his hand, thinking. "No. Maybe. I don't know."

Ken doesn't let up on the pressure and says softly, "Keep breathing, Takeru. Come on. With me." Still somewhat baffled, Takeru readily obliges.

He's uncertain when the sharp pain begins to ebb, but it does, and between one breath and the next, he slips into a light doze.

Takeru wakes the next morning to a mild headache, his head still pillowed on Ken's lap, and Daisuke curled by his feet snoring. He does what anyone would do in his position.

He kicks Daisuke off the bed and then quickly puts a half-conscious Ken between himself and the irate brunette. He winces at Daisuke's rising voice, but laughs all the same as he huddles behind Ken's back.

"Is this the thanks I get, Keru?" Ken sighs loudly as he is pushed and pulled this way and that depending on where Daisuke lunges to try and jab Takeru in the stomach.

Takeru replies by pressing a kiss to Ken's left temple before he is finally caught by Daisuke and tickled into submission.

A strip of sunlight peeks through the gap between the curtains; Ken mutters groggily of his sore back from sleeping upright all night; Daisuke complains of being rudely and unjustly woken up; and Takeru's head still throbs, albeit lightly and degrees less than the current state of his abdominal muscles that now ache from laughing so hard.

All in all, today already looks better than the last.

End


End file.
